


GingerBread

by Flux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bickering, Destiel Ficlet Challenge, Firefighter Dean, M/M, One Night Stands, Pets, Road Trips, Veterinarian Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flux/pseuds/Flux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's alone for Christmas this year, so that can only mean one thing - road trip.  The winding back roads of the Midwest lead him to a small town diner in Illinois where he might find exactly what he wasn't searching for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GingerBread

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Destiel Winter Ficlet Challenge prompt "gingerbread + loneliness"
> 
> Check out my partner, r2metoo's fic [here](http://r2metoo.tumblr.com/post/107663799537/breaking-ground)!

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Happy Hannukah!” Aaron adds, even though Dean’s pretty sure he hasn’t observed since before college.  Dean waves from his door as they all pull away from the curb and drive off one by one.  Benny’s headed home to Lousiana.  Charlie is visiting Dorothy in Argentina.  Kevin is flying back to Vietnam with his mom.  Even Sam is jetting off to London to meet his girlfriend’s parents for the first time.

And that’s it.  It’s December seventeenth and Dean’s Christmas is already over.

For the rest of them, this gathering was just an appetizer before the main course.  They’ve all got real Christmases waiting for them, but Dean doesn’t have any family other than Sam.  He doesn’t even have a girlfriend whose family he can borrow for the season.  All he has is a double shift at the fire station and a date with Die Hards one through five.

“Guess it’s just you and me now, John McClane,” he huffs, picking up his brand new box set.  He really has nothing to complain about, he reminds himself.  He had a great evening with his closest friends, a delicious meal, and a shiny new stash of kitchen equipment.  It’s a lot more than some people get.

Dean doesn’t want to be that guy who mopes through the holiday season.  So what if he’s spending Christmas at work?  So what is Sam would rather celebrate with a bunch of people he’s never met before than his own brother?  Dean’s young (or at least not old), healthy, and freaking adorable.  He doesn’t need anyone else to make this time special.  In fact, he resolves then and there that he is going to make this his best Christmas ever.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s on the full week from Christmas to New Years, so he has the week before that off.  It’s the perfect amount of time for a road trip.  Besides, what else is he going to blow the rest of his Christmas bonus on if not gas?  It’s been too long since he had a chance to be out on the open road and he’s starting to feel claustrophobic.  He loves Lawrence, loves the fact that he’s got a steady job and a townhouse not twenty minutes away from his little brother, but Dean’s heart will always belong out in the boondocks.

He decides to head east, three days out and three back.  He has a vague idea that he’ll see Niagara Falls, if he makes it that far.  If he doesn’t, well, it’s not like they’re going anywhere.

Dean pulls his car out of the garage for a quick check-up before he heads out on Thursday morning.  It’s been too long since he took his baby out for a real drive.  Sure he takes her around the city, menial trips to the fire station, the bank, the grocery store, but there’s something different about cruising down a highway at seventy miles an hour.  There’s this sweet spot where the tires hit the tarmac just right and the engine rumbles just so and he can just turn off the radio and let the syncopated beat of the road sweep his troubles away.

By the time he’s done, the morning rush is over and he makes it to the interstate in fifteen minutes.  He sends his brother a quick text to let him know he’ll be off the grid for a few days before turning it off and tossing it into the glove compartment.  He’s got a duffle with a few changes of clothes in the passenger’s seat and not much else.

Sam and Dean practically grew up on the road.  John Winchester was a sometimes drunk and consummate drifter.  It seemed like their mother had been his anchor and once her life line had been cut, John couldn’t stay in one place for longer than a few months if he tried and he didn’t always bother to try.  Dean wonders if he inherited some of that wanderlust, or if he just got used to it growing up.  There’s a question for the developmental sociologists.

A winter storm blew through last week and it hasn’t had a chance to fully melt, so the landscape is still edged in frosty white, long icicles dripping from the rocky cliffs bordering the highway.  If it were summer, Dean would open the window and let the wind run through his fingers.  As it is, he pops in a cassette of classic rock he burned himself and relaxes into the Impala’s warm leather seat.

Dean sails down the blacktop, watches as the buildings level out as he hits the suburbs and then disappear altogether when he gets into the country side.  Most people think of America and think New York and LA, big cities full of lights and people that never sleep, but spend enough time driving through the States and it becomes clear that the country is still an agrarian expanse.  Dean passes empty fields and hulking black farmhouses that look straight out of a different century.  He plans his trip specifically to avoid the big cities.  He drops off the interstate onto county roads crowded by forest.  When those get too busy, he turns off onto twisting back roads that creep along the banks of frozen rivers.   He gets himself thoroughly lost in the heart of Americana and all he knows is that he’s somewhere in Illinois, still generally headed east, when the sun starts to set.  It’s the dead of winter, so the sky is full dark by the time his stomach starts growling for dinner.  Lunch was a PB&J scrounged together last second and a bowl of leftover potato salad, so once the hunger sets in, it’s an implacable pit.

Dean heads towards lights and civilization again and finds himself in the middle of a one-road downtown lined with little mom-and-pop stores with their windows already gone dark.  There’s one place still open, a diner, set apart in the middle of an empty parking lot, and Dean pulls up right by the door.  The little tinkle of the bell sounds like a welcome home.

Here’s the other thing about growing up on the road – there’s no kitchen.  Meals came out of gas station hot boxes and vacuum sealed plastic baggies.  And when he was lucky, roadside diners.  Diners meant juicy burgers right off the grill and crisp fries still hot from the fryer.  They meant eating off ceramic plates and drinking from real glasses.  They meant washing his hands with hot water and soap instead of sucking off his fingers and wiping them on his pants.

They meant pie.

Dean heads straight for the counter and plucks a menu from a stack sitting by the register.  A teenage girl comes out of the back carrying a crate of glasses still dripping from the washer and she looks surprised to see him sitting there.

“One sec,” she calls out and heaves the crate onto the back counter before wiping her hands on her apron.  “Can I get you something to drink?”  

“Coffee, black,” Dean tells her without having to think.  He wants to get another few hours in before stopping for the night.

“Cool,” she says, writing it down on her little pad.  “You know what you want to eat or do you need a few minutes?”

“Bacon cheeseburger,” Dean orders without having to find it on the menu.  “Medium rare, extra onions, side of onion rings.”

“Got it,” she says and repeats it back to him.  She comes back a second later with his coffee, then disappears into the back again.  Dean wonders idly if she’s the only person working the whole diner, marvels that there are still places in the country where people let their teenage daughters work alone in the middle of the night.  Or, well, eight p.m.

With nothing else to do, Dean takes a look around.  The wall décor might be different, but the place reeks of the familiarity shared by every diner strewn along interstate turn-offs from Washington to Florida.  Vinyl booths line the walls and formica tables fill the floor.  Every table has a pair of salt and pepper shakers, a glass jar of real sugar, a dish of the fake stuff, a half-empty bottle of ketchup and a metal napkin dispenser.

Still, something feels off.

Dean takes a sip of his coffee, dark and strong and just shy of scalding hot.  It’s just the way he likes it.  His burger comes out shortly and he takes a bite.  Not bad, but not the best that he’s had either.  That honor goes out to a burger that came out of the kitchen of Missouri’s Food and Fortunes.  Buy a meal, get a free fortune.  It was one of the weirder gimmicks they’d run across in their travels, but damn if they didn’t know exactly how he liked his burger.  Dean instinctively turns around to rib Sam about the tantrum he threw when Dad refused to shell out the extra fifteen bucks for a full reading before realizing that there’s no one there.  He’s alone.

He blinks through the moment of disorientation.  Right, that was the entire point of this trip.  Dean was going to have to get used to doing things by himself.  Sam was going to get married, hopefully not to the catty little jeweler that had him packed away to England, but probably someday soon.  He’ll have a whole new family that doesn’t include Dean, but that's okay as long as his brother was happy.  Dean will be fine by himself.  Case in point, he is going to damn well enjoy the rest of this burger and then have himself a big, warm slice of pie.

The girl reappears across the counter from him as he’s swiping up the ketchup with the last of his onion rings, asking if he wants any dessert.

“You got pie?” Dean asks immediately.

The girl bites her lip, considering.  “We’ve got gingerbread cookies,” she announces finally.  “The proceeds go to the animal shelter.”

Dean blinks.  “Does that mean you don’t have pie?”

The girl actually rolls her eyes at him.  “Well, yeah, we do, but the cookies are for a good cause.”

Dean sighs.  He really isn’t in the mood for this.  He just wants to drown out his sorrows with sticky sweet syrup and flaky crust.  “What kind of pie do you have?” he persists.

The girl narrows her eyes and purses her lips.  “I hope you know that kittens are going to die because of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m allergic anyways,” he snaps.

She glares at him for a moment longer before grudgingly listing out their options.  Apple, blueberry, and pecan.

Dean orders two slices of pecan.  When the girl is gone, he takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm himself.  That was just a minor hiccup.  He’s not a bad person.  He’s just not an animal person.  He’d rather his money went to real live people instead of ungrateful furballs that claw and scratch and bite the person trying to save their asses from the fire.  This trip is not going to be ruined because some uppity teenager thinks he’s a dick who clubs baby seals for fun.

Despite their little dispute, his pie comes out warm and toasty, a big scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on the side.  His mood significantly brightens at the first bite.   The service might be wanting, but the dessert is to die for.

He’s halfway through his slice of pie when the bell over the door tinkles again.  The man who walks in is decked out in full winter gear from knitted cap to heavy snow boots to mittens patterned with white squirrels.  Dean glances out the window to make sure that it hasn’t suddenly started snowing again, but it hasn’t.  The sky is just as clear as it had been all day.

The girl looks up from her drying and seems to recognize the guy.

“Hey, Castiel,” she calls out, slipping off her stool and heading back into the kitchen.

“Hello, Claire,” the man answers after finally managing to unwind his long scarf from his head.  His voice definitely does not match his face.  He sounds like a nail-crunching body-builder with a steroid problem but his features are practically delicate.  He’s got razor sharp cheekbones and wide, pillow-y lips and Dean’s staring like a complete idiot.  He hurriedly looks back at his pie, sneaking occasional glances as the man takes the stool two down.

He must not be very subtle, though, because the man gives him an interested look and a bemused, “Hello.”

“Hey,” Dean says, giving the guy his most winning grin.  If he plays this right, he might not be spending the night on the road after all.  “You from around here?”

The guy’s frown deepens.  “Why would I not be from around here?”

Dean gestures at his get-up.  “Bundled up a little tight there.”

“It’s twenty-seven degrees out,” the man says like that’s the explanation for everything.

Before they can get any further, the girl, Claire comes back out with a paper bag in one hand and a carry cup in the other.  She pauses and looks between them before her eyes narrow down on Dean.

“So Castiel,” she says, unnecessarily loud, “how’s the shelter doing?”

Dean winces and the smile falls from his face.

The man, Castiel, sighs and takes a sip from his cup.  “Not very well.  Unless something big happens, we’re going to have to close at the end of the month.”

The evil glare falls off Claire’s face, replaced by a look of concern.  “That sucks.  Did the Springfield shelter get back to you?”

“Yes.  They said they’d be willing to help, but they’re almost at capacity and there’s always an influx of animals once the holiday season has passed.  They can only take a handful of transfers.”

Dean tries to look sympathetic and not like an evil kitten-killing reprobate.  “What happens after the holiday season?”

Castiel’s big blue eyes turn to look at him sadly.  “Many families purchase animals as gifts without fully considering the consequences of being a pet owner.”

“Oh,” Dean says.  “That’s really shitty.  Anything I can do to help?”

Castiel brightens up instantly.  “Yes, of course.  Claire is helping me sell cookies to raise money for the shelter.”

“Is that so?” Dean says like it’s the first time he’s hearing about it.  “Well in that case, I’ll take two.  How much, Claire?”

She gnaws on the inside of her cheek for a second.  “Ten bucks.”

“Claire, that isn’t –” Castiel starts to say but she cuts him off.

“Each.”

Dean narrows his eyes at her, but she stares him right down.

“Hey Cas,” she says cloyingly, “Dean and I were talking before you got here and he had some interesting things to say about kittens.”

“Okay!” Dean yelps, pulling out his wallet.  As he hands over the money, Dean wonders why he’s willing to shell out twenty bucks for two cookies just to get on some stranger’s good side.  They idea that he just doesn’t want to spend his night alone in some strange motel room niggles at the back of his mind and he banishes it immediately.  There doesn’t need to be any reason beyond his two month dry spell and the fact that Castiel is hot enough to make him wonder what’s underneath all those layers.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Castiel says, concerned.

“Nah, it’s for a good cause, right?”

“Oh yes.  Very.”

Dean can’t help smiling at how earnest the guy looks.

Claire slips him two plastic-wrapped cookies, one shaped like a reindeer and the other like an elephant.  Dean’s gonna have to scratch his head about that one.

“So what were you telling Claire about kittens?”

“Huh?”  Dean looks up to see Castiel watching him.

“I would like to know what interesting things you had to say about kittens.”

There’s a malicious gleam in Claire’s eyes as she opens her mouth to answer, so Dean panics.

“I love kittens!  I was just telling her how much I love them!”  He chuckles nervously and tries to think of one nice thing to say about the little devils.  “We got called to this house once.  The little old cat lady had three kittens that managed to get under the floorboards.  We ended up tearing up half her porch to get them out.  One of them scratched me right in the leg.  Got an infection that took three weeks to clear up.”

Cas is looking at him with a vaguely worried look on his face, Claire looks fit to burst with laughter, and Dean is really fucking this up.

“And they were really cute?” Dean adds.

Cas’ expression clears up a little.  “You’re a firefighter.”

Dean sighs in relief.  It’s probably the best thing he could have gleaned from that little story.  “Yup, second lieutenant with the Lawrence Fire Department for three years now.”

“Do you have basic animal rescue training?”

“Yeah, I’m BART-certified.”  Dean isn’t really sure where this is going now.

“Oh good!  Then maybe you can help me.  There are some animals at the shelter that need periodic medical care.”

“Uh.”

“He can’t!” Claire interjects, furious.  “He’s allergic to cats.”

“That’s alright,” Cas assures her.  “There’s Benadryl at the shelter.”  He turns back to Dean expectantly.  “Are you coming?”

Dean feels a little like he’s been tricked into something, but he can’t figure out how or what or why.  There’s a teenage girl glaring at him like he pissed in her cereal and a really hot guy waiting for him at the door.  So that they can go to an animal shelter.  And take care of animals.  That Dean hates.

Then again, his other option is a lonely drive through pitch-dark night to a shitty dive of a motel that smells like cigarette butts and industrial-strength bleach where he’ll probably fall asleep halfway through a Christmas special with his jeans still on.

“Yeah okay,” Dean hears himself say while his hindbrain is still pondering which Christmas special he’d rather be watching and if he should pick up a bag of chips to eat in bed.

“He hates kittens!” Claire yells after them, to which Castiel only gives a curt nod.

Castiel is carrying his bag of food, the to-go cup, a box of leftover gingerbread cookies, and an aluminum canister clanking with change.  He stops in front of the Impala and gives the car an appraising look.

“Is this yours?”

“Uh, yeah.  You into cars?” Dean asks, hurrying to catch up.

“I like that they can take me places.  You can give me a ride to the shelter.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Dean says.  He figures at this point he might as well go along with it.  “Where’s your car?”

“I walked.”

“Ah.”  Well, that explains the fifty layers at least.  Dean unlocks the driver’s side and slides over the bench seat to flip the other latch.  Castiel shuffles in, resting the bag in the footwell and balancing everything else on his lap.  Dean sets his own cookies on the dashboard.

“Where to?”

Castiel directs them down the darkened street to a squat brick building with big glass windows down one side.  The sign overhead reads “Paws to the Rescue!”  Dean helps Castiel carry his box and his tin while he lets them both in through the back.  The door opens up to a small lounge area with a battered old couch along one wall and a mini fridge crammed in the corner between a desk and a bookshelf.

Castiel sets his food and drink on the table in front of the couch before taking the box and the can from Dean.  He grabs a handful of the cookies and holds them out.

“Here, you should take these.  Claire was only supposed to sell them for two dollars each.  Having you pay ten was far too much.”

“That’s okay.  It’s for the, uh, kittens right?”

“I insist,” Castiel says.  Dean gets the feeling that he’s not walking out of this without a dozen gingerbread cookies shoved in his pockets so he takes them with a wan smile.

“Thanks.”  He stands there awkwardly, hands full of cookies, and looks around for a place to put them all.

“Besides, I didn’t want to feel like you were paying me,” Castiel continues.

“For what?”

“For this.”

The kiss catches Dean completely off guard.  One second he’s wondering if it would look bad if he piled the cookies right next to the box and the next there are chapped lips pressed up against his and a warm hand on the back of his head.

Castiel pulls back abruptly, uncertainty written over his face.

“This is what you wanted, correct?”

“No, yeah, totally!” Dean assures him.  “I just didn’t think you picked up on that.”  And really Dean should just shut up right about now.

The look Castiel gives him is thoroughly unimpressed.  

“You shouldn’t underestimate me."

“Yeah,” Dean says with a chuckle.  “I think I’m starting to get that.”

“Good.  Now undress,” Castiel orders and Dean has never been happier to comply.  He drops his cookies on the table without another thought and starts peeling out of his jacket.  Castiel is already ahead of him, collection of knitted accessories in a heap by the door and his coat sliding easily off his shoulders.

Dean gets a bit distracted when Castiel starts unbuttoning his shirt, unveiling inch by inch his winter-pale skin.  He’s surprisingly fit underneath his layers, with nice toned pecs and shoulders that Dean wants to bite.  Dean licks his lips when Castiel starts to unbuckle his belt and he nearly whines when he stops.

“Dean,” Castiel says sternly, pulling him out of his reverie.  “If you are not naked by the time I’m done, I’ll have to do it for you and I can not guarantee your clothing will remain intact.”

Dean swallows dry.  He’s not opposed to that idea.  Not at all.  Dean takes a seat on the couch and settles back with his arms draped over the back.  Castiel shoots him a scowl and Dean can’t help but laugh.  He thinks he might kind of like working Cas into a snit.  He wonders what the man is like when he’s really mad, whether that intense gaze of his fills with fury and passion instead of pure focus.

Castiel is on him in a second, pants unbuttoned and barely clinging to his hips.

“You are infuriating,” Castiel snarls, grabbing the bottom hem of Dean’s t-shirt and yanking it over his head.

“You like it,” Dean quips, grinning.

Cas doesn’t answer him.  Instead, he latches his mouth onto Dean’s neck and sucks.  Hard.  Dean can’t stop the moan it draws from his lips.  While Cas is focused on giving him an impressive hickey, Dean takes the chance to run his hands over Cas’ torso, finding the places that make his shiver, the places the make him groan.  He feels Cas’ breath stutter when one of his fingers brushes over a nipple.

“You like that, too, huh?” Dean murmurs as Cas grinds his ass down right against Dean’s dick.

“Shut.  Up,” Cas snaps before rendering it impossible for Dean to talk anyways by shoving his tongue in Dean’s mouth.  It’s aggressive and passionate and incredibly hot.  Dean braces his feet against the cushions and bucks upward while Cas slides down a little so that they’re rubbing against each other through the fabric of their pants.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean gasps when Cas finally lets him up for a breath of air, his hands fumbling in an effort to get his jeans open.

“This would be a lot easier if you had just undressed like I’d asked you to,” Cas says with a slight pout.

“Yeah well, guess who distracted me?” Dean grunts as he finally manages to pop the button through the hole.  And then Cas’ hands are on him, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down and out of the way.  Dean does his own part and drags Cas’ underwear down to his thighs, groaning when his dick bobs free.  He doesn’t get a chance to really admire it though, because in the next second, Cas licks a stripe of spit down his hand and takes them both in hand.

There’s grunting and moaning and slick, wet heat and before he knows it, Cas is collapsed on his chest over a pool of their shared jizz.  It’s pretty gross and it’ll be worse when it dries, but Dean is too warm and content to really care.  He runs one hand up and down Cas’ sweat-covered back, smiling lazily into his damp hair.

“That was fun,” he drawls, and Castiel groans against his collarbone.

“How are you still talking,” he rumbles, but Dean’s pretty sure the guy just likes to complain.

“Naw, you’d have to go full hog to shut me up.”

Castiel shifts until he can prop his pointy chin on Dean’s chest and look him in the eye.  “What does that even mean?”

Dean gives him a wink.  “Stick around for round two and you might find out.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow down before he seems to give up, letting his head drop back down and snuggles in.  “Be quiet.”

Dean chuckles.  Castiel is probably the first person he’s met whose disposition actually worsens after an orgasm.  As for Dean, he’s pretty happy all around.  He’s loose and relaxed and there’s a warm body pressed against him.  What does it matter that he’s on a worn-out couch in the backroom of a place that smells like wet dog and cough drops?  He falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Get up.”

There’s light.  A lot of it.  Dean would like it to go away.  He shifts his arm so his face is buried in his elbow.

“Get up.  You said you would help me.”

Dean groans and rubs his eyes before blinking them open.  He’s greeted by the sight of half-naked man and at least one part of him perks up.

“Wha?” he asks intelligibly.

“Ginger and Astrid need their medicine and Pumpernickel needs her bandages changed.  She’s still got a spot of pneumonia, so I don’t want to have to sedate her.  It would be easier if you helped hold her still.”

Dean wipes a hand down his face and sits up.  “You were serious about that?”

Castiel cocks his head to a side, confused.  “Of course, I was.”

“I thought it was just a way to get into my pants.”

Castiel considers this for a moment.  “Yes, that too.”

Dean huffs and swings his legs off the couch.  His pants are still caught around his knees, so it doesn’t take much to pull them back on.  His chest is clean, though, so Castiel must have wiped them both up while Dean was still out of it.  He finds his shirt halfway across the room, draped across a pile of binders where Castiel flung it in his haste to get him naked.  By the time he also finds his socks, Castiel is already gone through the door and Dean can hear the dogs barking in the next room.

He opens the door to be greeted by three rows of kennels stacked two high, filled with dogs and cats and a few more exotic animals.

“Is that a squirrel?” Dean asks, peering into the cage of what looks like a squirrel with extensions.

“Mr. Pom is a chinchilla,” Castiel informs him, handing him a pair of latex gloves and a double pack of Benadryl.  Dean pops the pills from their bubbles and swallows them down dry, which is a good thing because he can already feel a tickle at the back of his throat.

Astrid is a scruffy gray cat barely older than a kitten.  He’s shy and a bit skittish, but generally well behaved.  Cas wraps him in a towel and coos at him the few minutes it takes to give him a pill.  Cas gives him a final scratch behind the ears before locking him back in his kennel.

Ginger is a whole nother animal.  The orange tabby starts yowling as soon as they step in front of her door, flashing long incisors that make Dean flinch.

“I should be able to get her out of her kennel by myself, but I need you to be prepared to chase her if she gets away from me,” Cas warns him and Dean puts on a brave face.  He is six foot two and one hundred and fifty pounds.  He’s been stabbed twice.  He’s suffered second degree burns.  He isn’t going to be scared of some fifteen pound alley cat, especially not in front of his one night stand.

Cas is holding a thick blanket when he opens the latch.  The cat lunges at him, but Cas is quicker, throwing the blanket over her and grabbing her neck before she can get out the door.  He wraps his other arm around her and all her bedding, carrying the whole mess of cat and blanket and padding to the exam table.

“Hold her down for me,” Cas instructs.  “Keep one hand on her neck to secure her had and the other on her upper torso.”

It's been a few years, but Dean remembers this from training.  He takes over and Cas steps out of the way.  Dean feels the cat buck and squirm under his hands, but no way is he letting the little hellbeast get at either of them.  Cas flicks up the back end of the blanket and manages to get her hind legs in one hand while he grabs a syringe with the other.  The needle goes right into the pad of her left paw, which is pretty fucked up, and Dean actually feels a twinge of sympathy for the feline.

Getting Ginger back into her kennel is a lot easier than getting her out, though she still hisses at him as they close the door.  Cas sighs and watches her lick herself for a few moments before straightening up and running a hand through his hair.

“I would adopt her if I could, but my apartment doesn’t allow free roaming pets,” he admits.

“Really?” Dean asks, incredulous.  “You’d pick Ginger?  Astrid seems to like you a lot better, man.  He was practically eating out of your hand.”

Castiel gives him an exasperated look.  “Ginger has been through a lot.  She’s just trying to protect herself from being hurt again.  If strangers took you away from your home and locked you in a cage, you would be just as defensive and aggressive.”

Dean thinks about it for a second and yeah, Cas has a point.  

“Young, friendly cats like Astrid are easier to place,” Cas continues.  “It’s unlikely that Ginger will find a family before we have to put her down.”

“Wait, what?” Dean asks, his stomach sinking.  Sure he doesn’t like cats, but everything he said about killing kittens had been a joke.

Cas doesn’t look up at him, focusing instead of preparing the suite for its next patient.  “When the shelter closes, only half the animals will be able to be transferred.  The rest of them will have to be euthanized.”

Dean glances back out the doorway to Ginger’s cage and he feels a flash of anger on her behalf.  “That’s not fair!  She’s been through who knows how much shit in her life to make it this far and you’re just going to kill her?”

Castiel’s shoulders slump even further and he doesn’t bother to answer.

"You know what,” he decides, “I’ll find someone to take her.  I know people, lots of people!  There’s gotta be someone who wants a cat.”

Castiel turns to glare at him.  “Do you remember what I told you about impulsive holiday pet purchases?  No one should have a pet unless they’ve properly considered the issue and decided they are able and willing to take on that responsibility.”

“Well it’s better than letting her get euthanized!” Dean counters.

“Do you know how many pets are in this shelter alone?” Cas asks.  He barrels on without giving Dean a chance to answer.  “Forty-nine.  That means that twenty-five of them are going to die within the next month.  You can’t just come here trying to save them all.”

“Well I can save her!” Dean insists petulantly.  The square off, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye.  Dean is struck by the completely inappropriate thought that he would really like to kiss Cas right now.  He doesn’t, of course, because that would be a bad idea.  For several very convincing reasons that he will think of later.

Cas deflates first.  “You’re not taking her,” he grumps.  “You’re allergic and I won’t allow you to drive while medicated.”

“Won’t allow me?” Dean repeats, somewhat amused.

“I’ll hide your keys,” Cas snaps.

“Fine.  She can stay here until I find someone to come pick her up,” Dean allows.

“Fine,” Cas echoes.  “Now come on.  Pumpernickel is too big for me to lift alone.”

 

* * *

 

Pumpernickel is massive.  Her head comes up to Dean’s stomach and she’s covered in shaggy, dark brown fur.  Cas says she has some wolfhound in her, but Dean thinks he meant to say bear.  Possibly teddy bear.  Because Pumpernickel likes hugs.  The first thing she does when Cas lets her out of her kennel is jump up on her hind legs to rest her paws on Dean’s shoulders and slobber all over his face.

“I think it’s love,” Cas deadpans while Dean tries not to collapse under her weight.  

Eventually they manage to calm her down and get her into the exam room where Cas convinces her to roll onto her back.  She doesn’t stay still, of course, until Dean sits down next to her and allows her to lay her big, furry head on his legs while he strokes her neck.

“You remind me of my kid brother,” Dean tells the dog.  “He’s also a giant with too much hair.”

She stares adoringly up at him, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth while Cas fusses over at a nasty cut on her chest.

“When Sam was a kid,” Dean continues, “he’d only go down for a nap if I laid down next to him and rubbed his back.  He drooled a lot, too, sometimes on my face.”

Dean hears a quiet huff of breath and catches the leaving traces of a smile on Castiel’s face.  He realizes that this is probably the first time he’s heard the other man laugh.

“You think that’s funny, you should hear about the time he peed in my mouth.”

“Your mouth probably needed to be sterilized.”

“I seem to remember you kissing my mouth,” Dean teases.  Castiel’s nose scrunches up in distaste.

“I’ll make you brush next time,” Cas says.  He freezes for a second before his hands go back to their steady motions.  “I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

“Right,” Dean says, scratching Pumpernickel behind the ears, mood suddenly sour.  They live nine hours apart.  They’d probably never see each other again.  And sure, people did long distance relationships, but not after a quickie on a couch and some light veterinary work.  Not that Dean’s not willing to try, but someone like Cas?  He probably has guys pounding down his door at all hours.

Cas tapes down the last edge of the gauze and stands back.  “You can let her up now,” he tells him.

“Okay, Nicky, get up,” Dean prods, and Pumpernickel flips right back over, tail swishing lazily behind her.  “Good girl.”

Dean leads her back to her kennel which seems suddenly a lot smaller now that he knows how big she is.  If she really is like Sam, then she probably likes to sprawl all over the place with her limbs akimbo.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Dean asks around the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know,” Cas says, unlatching the door.  “It depends on how healthy she is by the time the transfers come around.  The other shelters would rather take animals with lower medical costs.”

Pumpernickel whines as she sits practically on his feet.  She stares up at him with big, imploring brown eyes and all Dean can see is his little brother begging him not to leave him on his first day of kindergarten.  

“Dean,” Cas chides, “remember what I said -”

“Yeah, I know what you said!” Dean snaps.  “Look, I’ve got a townhouse all to myself, okay?  I’m single and I don’t have kids, so I don’t have any other responsibilities outside of work.  I go running every day, so exercise won’t be a problem and I know my landlord allows dogs because the couple next to me has a poodle that won’t shut up.  Frankly, I don’t have much going on for me, but I can give her a home and I won’t give up on her or get tired of her or throw her away because that’s just not the kind of person I am.  If anything, I get attached too quickly and hold onto things too tight!”

Dean lets out a long breath and realizes that he’s basically aired out all his dirty laundry to a practical stranger, but Cas doesn’t look perturbed by the overshare.  In fact, he’s got a sad little smile on his face.

“Alright, Dean.  You can adopt Pumpernickel.”  His eyes narrow.  “You’re not allergic to dogs, too, are you?”

Dean laughs and Pumpernickel lets out a soft woof of agreement.

 

* * *

Dean doesn’t make it to Niagara Falls.  In fact, he’s headed home the day after he left.  It’s still cold as fuck out, but he has the windows down anyways.  His hand dangles out of the driver’s side, letting the chill air rush through his fingers.  Pumpernickel hangs out of the passenger’s side, ears and tongue flapping in the wind.

When the cold gets even too much for her, he rolls up the windows and cranks up the radio.  Sam always complained about his singing, but Pumpernickel just howls along.  His back seat is filled with bowls and toys and leashes and the trunk is housing the pieces of a truly massive cage.  It cost most of his remaining holiday bonus, but it’s not like Dean had anything else to spend it on.  

There’s also a pile of gingerbread cookies cluttering his dash.  He doesn't even like gingerbread.  It's spicy and bitter and hard to chew, but he's going to give it a chance.

“You’re worth it,” he assures Nicky, rubbing her ears.  “Even if you do shed all over my car.”

Her response is to drool on his elbow.

 

* * *

 

 

_Four months later_

 

Dean holds the phone with one hand and pushes Nicky away from the cord with the other.

“No, I can’t wait until Dr. Barnes gets back from the Bahamas!”  Dean just barely manages to keep from yelling at the receptionist.  “She needs to see a vet now.  She’s been throwing up every day for almost a week!”

Nicky circles him, claws clacking against the kitchen tile, sniffing between the chair legs looking for scraps that she’ll just heave up again later.

“Yeah, okay, fine, give me the referral.”  Dean scribbles down the information before offering a terse thanks and hanging up.  He sighs and drops down to the floor and lets Nicky curl up in his lap, or as much of her as she can fit, which is really only her front legs and her head.

“It’s okay, baby girl.  We’ll figure out what’s wrong with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean takes Nicky out for a walk.  She’s a bit lethargic, probably because she hasn’t eaten properly in five days, so they take it slow on their circuit to and from the park.

Nicky notices it first, her entire frame perking up as she catches its scent.  She’s never been much of a barker, but Dean’s learned to read her signs.  That’s when Dean sees it - a cat, an orange tabby - and is hit with a pang of guilt.  He never could find anyone to take Ginger.  Anyone who was even remotely interested didn’t want to drive all the way to Illinois to get one, much less one with a temper and an infected foot.  

The cat darts off and Dean puts it out of his mind.  Thinking about Ginger also means thinking about Cas and how he let him down.

He ends up cutting their walk short, because Nicky seems tired and even though Dean is trained to carry humans down ladders from burning homes, he isn’t really keen on lugging his mammothian dog all the way home.  They spend the extra half an hour before her vet appointment sacked out in front of the tv watching a show about squirrels.  It seems to perk Nicky up a bit.

He’s still worried about her, though.  He doesn’t even have to trick her to get her into the car, and she sits with her chin resting on the window sill as they make their way to the new vet’s office.  The clinic is a low, brick building with a crowded parking lot.  The waiting room is filled with people and their animals ranging from birds to cats to something small and fuzzy that Dean can’t remember the name of.  He checks in at the desk and sits down between a man with a parakeet and a woman with a schnauzer that Nicky only gives a half-hearted sniff to before settling down between his feet.

Dean picks up a car magazine from 2009 and flips through it without really seeing anything.  Someone comes out to call in the next patient, but Dean doesn’t bother to look up.  He’s probably got a good half hour wait before his name comes up.

But then he hears the voice.

“Cas!” he says, standing up and spinning around.  Sure enough, Castiel is standing in the doorway with a clipboard and a stunned look on his face.

“You!” Cas says.  And then, “Pumpernickel!”

Dean can’t help but be offended.  “You remember her name but you don’t remember mine?”

Cas scowls.  “You never told me your name.”

“Yes I did!” Dean says, because he did.  He must have.  They slept together.  “I filled out adoption forms,” he points out triumphantly.

“I’m a vet.  The interns file all the paperwork,” Cas huffs.

“You weren’t even curious enough to check?”

Cas looks supremely squirrely as he mumbles, “I’m not good with computers.  I couldn’t find your records.”

“Aha!  You did try to look me up,” Dean crows.

“I can’t say the same for you!”

Dean bites his cheek.  “I was going to call you when I found a home for Ginger, but then I never did, but then it was February and I felt bad and I thought you’d be angry with me,” he admits in one long breath.

“You’re a coward,” Castiel says.

“Well, you’re a luddite!” Dean counters.

“I am not.”

“It’s two thousand fifteen and you don’t know how to use a computer.”

“The filing system at Paws to the Rescue was unusually counter-intuitive.  I am perfectly adequate with technology.”

“Then prove it!”

“I will.”

“Friday night.  Eight pm.”

“Fine.  Leave your number with the receptionist.  I have a patient to attend to.  Ms. Wilson!”

Dean realizes then that every single person in the room is staring at him.  He sits back down with a smile on his face.

It turns out that Nicky is pregnant.  Damn that yappy poodle.

Claire still doesn’t like the idea of Dean dating her uncle.

That was Ginger they saw after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just finished this with one hour left to the deadline and I need to sleep so there was zero editing done. Will go back through it when I wake up in the morning.


End file.
